


Stronger Than Whiskey

by tombs



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Enemies With Benefits, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Friends With Benefits, One Night Stands, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, brief mention of rape fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tombs/pseuds/tombs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephanie gives Brock a try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stronger Than Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> The non-con/dub-con warning is for brief mention of rape fantasies. And because, you know, Steph doesn't know she's sleeping with Hydra.
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/19023.html?thread=45455695#t45455695) on the avengerskink meme: **"fem!Steve/Rumlow, Sex**. I just want to see Rumlow pounding into fem!Steve like there is no tomorrow."
> 
> I'm throwing in an extra day before Fury gets shot. Because I'm nice like that.

"You don't look happy Captain," Brock says lightly when he joins her on the elevator.  
  
"I'm not."  
  
Brock nods genially and looks out at the water below. "We all got out of there safe. Hostages safe, no casualties," he argues.  
  
Thirteen casualties, Steph knows. Just not friendlies. Six dead by Natasha, two by Brock, one by Steph, four by other members of the strike team. Good men and women's lives had been at stake, so Steph really shouldn't care. She's killed hundreds.  
  
"Don't blame the Widow. It's on Fury." Brock advises, watching the pond like there's something under it. Steph knows now there is.  
  
"Oh, I do blame him."  
  
Brock glances back at her, sympathetic. "You need a beer?"  
  
"I need something a lot stronger than that."

\---

She talks to Peggy, and for a moment she is determined to support SHIELD again until she remembers this isn't Peggy’s SHIELD. Peggy is why she came to DC. But she might as well have something to do while she stays.  
  
Going to the VA helps. But she still feels lost and uncertain as she walks home. She notices a figure standing outside her apartment building and keeps walking casually, pretends she hasn't noticed, so that she can be the one to get the drop on him if he's trouble.  
  
But when she sees who it is she snorts. "Did you follow me home? Because the landlord doesn't allow dogs."  
  
Brock holds up a bottle of whiskey. "But I fetched you something nice."  
  
Steph shakes her head ruefully. "I could report you for that," because he's on call.  
  
He shrugs his arms, in that _come on_ gesture. "You wanted to know the secret to my footwork. Here it is." He raises the whiskey bottle again, offers it to her now that she's only a step away.  
  
She takes it. Won't do her any good, but it’s the thought that counts. "Bad for balance but good for a soft fall, I guess." They're talking about the time he dodged a knife and fell down two flights of stairs. Davis and Mickleson had taken the mission footage and printed a perfect shot of Brock with his feet in the air, eyes and mouth wide, arms down to catch himself on a floor that wasn't there. It hadn't been funny during the 10 seconds when it happened, but it sure had been once the team knew he was okay.  
  
That had probably been the moment she really started to like him. She'd been afraid for him before, but laughing at his dumb ass had brought along the first true cord of camaraderie between her and the strike team. He'd landed soft enough to protect his neck, good training, gotten up immediately, and jumped back into the fight. He'd been mad as hell and cussing at everyone. But ultimately he'd taken the ribbing good naturedly. She'd - she couldn't not like him after that.  
  
She still missed the Commandos.  
  
"Come on, I'm trying to cheer you up," he cocked his head and gave her that good guy smile she loved.  
  
"By boozing me up."  
  
"I also bought chocolate?" He holds up a plastic grocery bag, and she can smell the brownies and truffles and all sorts of magical things in it. "Girls like that shit, right?"  
  
"Get your ass in here." She shoves him through the front door.  
  
She’s not giggling like a schoolgirl when they reach her floor. Her neighbor is stepping out with a basket of laundry, smiling to see her, but loses the sincerity when Brock steps up behind Steph.  
  
"Stephanie! ...oh. I see you have company."  
  
"Um, just a co-worker," Stephanie offers sheepishly. Mrs. Morgan would have scolded her silly and ushered Brock right out of the building if she had seen this.  
  
"Of course," Sharon says gracefully, in that poised way that always reminds Steph of someone. "I understand how stressful work can be. Never hurts to, kick back. Have a good night you two."  
  
Sharon and Brock meet each other's glare for a moment, and things aren't really so different nowadays as everyone wants to claim. Steph ducks her gaze, not sure if she's embarrassed or ashamed, and focuses on getting the key in her door while Sharon disappears down the stairs.  
  
"Nice place," Brock says. It's the nicest place she's ever had of her own. The rooms are bigger than anything from before, the kitchen is smaller but astounding in all the gadgets, even now. The faucet is much too sensitive. She was able to have her claw foot bathtub, after talking to the landlord and dropping enough money to make her heart beat loud. She's never had the money to just spend like this before. She feels impossibly rich, Howard rich, though Natasha reassures her that SHEILD should be paying her more.  
  
Just thinking about Natasha pisses her off again.  
  
"Very vintage," Brock plays with the touch lamp, the one that is apparently meant for women her age.  
  
"Vintage to me is Victorian," she says with a shrug and a scratch.  
  
"I knew a lady who was really into that kind of stuff. Liked making Victorian dresses and wearing them to nerd fairs."  
  
She pours whiskey for both of them, into the crystal-ware that someone from SHIELD probably found in antique store. Only a handful of the items here did she buy herself. "That seems strange for you. I thought you liked modern girls in lots of leather." Brock had a calendar of motorcycle girls in his locker.  
  
"When I met her she was wearing a leather jacket and shorts. I wasn't expecting her historical side."  
  
Steph had caught Brock staring at her on her motorcycle. She knew she looked good, though she had no plans on going into battle in a bikini.  
  
The chocolate is good. Brock sticks to the brownies, letting her have the whole box of truffles and caramels, and they talk a little about the job and really not much else.  
  
Steph hears Bucky in her ear, "There's only one thing a guy like that wants." And for a moment she thinks he's right behind her, lips almost touching her ear. He'd be glaring at Brock, hovering protectively over her, close enough to feel the heat of him.  
  
She knows why Brock's here. And she hadn't invited him up expecting anything else. She's just gathering her courage, because it's been years. But she wants him. She does. She wants another body against hers, lips on her ear, hands sliding down her hips.  
  
There's condoms in the bottom of the plastic bag, and a little clear bottle. Brock had shoved it out of sight with embarrassment when he'd pulled the food out of the bag, but she'd still seen it. She reaches for it now.  
  
"Maximus..." she reads.  
  
His eyes dart away; he scratches at his nose. "Um, yeah. I was going to take it home. I like to keep stuff like that on hand, in case, you know."  
  
“In case you have company with your hand?” she teases.  
  
“Ouch. Brutal boss. Brutal.”  
  
She flips the cap, sniffs it. Rumlow has gone still, watching her. She sets the little bottle on her coffee table, gets up to stand over him, touches his face.  
  
They kiss, once, twice, and maybe lips should linger there but when he goes right to her jaw she likes it, is maybe even grateful for it. Down her neck, sideways to her shoulder for a moment, but then down again, to her collar bone. His hand comes up to her side, touching her arm first, then sliding under her arm to wrap his hand around her rib cage, thumb sliding up to toy with her nipple through her shirt. He looks up at her, like he's asking for permission, so she leans forward to kiss him on the lips again. Let's him breath into her, opens her mouth to him.  
  
He hefts her into his lap, and she slides them together so that her groin is right over his cock, and grinds down on him, imagining how he's going to feel inside. He pulls her head down, hands in her hair, strokes over her tongue with his, and she rocks against him.  
  
He sucks at her breasts, through her shirt at first, then through her totally unsexy full support bra, biting at her tits. She laughs. He toys with her, kissing the skin below her breasts before he pulls the bra up. She’s got a shirt and a bra around her shoulders, and she's laughing again as she pulls away. He looks apologetic, and it's so sweet, how he's hungry and awkward with her clothes, the way he watches her peel the clothing off.  
  
She stops at her panties, standing there toying with the band. She looks him in the eyes and he comes to her. Gets down on his knees and kisses her mound, licks and sucks through her panties. She holds his head there because it feels so good. He sucks and tongues at her clit, the indirect stimulus still making her knees shakes. Then he lifts one of her legs over his shoulder and before the serum, before the war, she would have fallen over, but she keeps her balance as he kisses up right where her entrance is, a promise.  
  
She leans into it, head tilting back, and she's still not falling but her leg is gripping tight over his shoulder, as he alternates between her clit and the growing wetness at her entrance. He pushes the crotch of her panties out of the way and licks into her. She cries out, falling forward, but not falling down, holding on to him, probably painfully, pushing his face into her crotch. He fucks her with his tongue, and she makes those gasping noises that Buck always liked so much.  
  
Brock eases her down to the floor. Guess they weren't going to make it to the bedroom. She's completely naked, panties around her ankle, legs spread. He's still fully dressed, and she pushes his hands away from his shirt, goes for his zipper. "Hurry."  
  
"You're the boss." As soon as they have his dick out he's scrambling for a condom, rolling it on and then pushing into her. He opens her, fills her up, and she hasn't had this for so long, hasn't had a big body on top of her, hasn't had hips between her thighs, a back under her hands. He eases into her, rests like he's giving her a chance to get used to it, kisses her, but she doesn't want that. She bucks up against him. He swears, and she moves on his dick, hips off the floor, pulling off then thrusting back on his dick with control that she's used to crawl up cliff walls when she's bleeding out. "Jesus Christ," he says then fucks into her, finding his rhythm quickly.  
  
He's holding himself up by both arms, fully clothed and slapping his hips against her, and she finally lets herself fall into it. Closes her eyes, keeps her hips angled towards him, feels the friction of him, in and out, working her insides. She whines. It's not enough.  
  
She bucks up against him again, arching her back because it all feels good but, but. She looks up at him; he's staring at the ceiling. "Come _on_ ," she bucks up again, and she's strong enough to almost knock him off balance.  
  
He catches himself, gives her a _what the hell is wrong with you_ look, then grabs her knees and bends her near in half, holding her open and almost immobile. He fucks into her harder this time, the kind of balls slapping hard that Bucky only did after, when he was angry and upset and she’d pushed him to it.  
  
"Is that, what you want?" Brock asks, and he's hesitant and it makes her frustrated. She grips the floor, tearing her rug and leaving nail marks in her hardwood floor, then bucks up against him again - but he's ready for it, keeps her knees to the floor (barely), then grabs her by the hair and pulls her head back. She stares up at him through squinted eyes, panting through her mouth.  
  
"Crazy girl," and he looks at her like she's adorable, then suddenly twists her body, pulling her hair in one direction, her knee in the other, and she screams, her groin bobbing and clenching around him, and she grabs the sofa because if she didn't she might claw at him.  
  
He fucks her so hard she slides across the carpet. The pace he sets is brutal, and she's arching into it, biting her lip, eyes watering, and what would Bucky think if he saw her like this? It would break his heart, and Brock is panting over her, giving it to her like he's a gorilla, bruising her leg and her insides, fucking her raw and each stroke feels like it's going straight behind her eyes. "Please please please please," she's panting, whining for it, her body writhing: open for it, closed to protect against the onslaught.  
  
Then she's really arching into it, screaming and seeing white, body bowed, tight tight. She collapses back to the floor with a sob, eyes closed as her body clenches and milks him helplessly in the aftershocks of it.  
  
Brock pulls her hips tight to his with both arms and comes with fast thrusts that peter out slowly, exhaustion showing. He leans back, panting. "Jesus Christ."  
  
She doesn't have anything to say to that. The whole world is blurry, and she knows she's a crying mess, and everything is so sore, from her core to her heart.  
  
"You okay?" Brock asks, and pats at her thigh because he's exhausted and that's probably as much as he can move.  
  
She had always wondered what it was like, with other guys. Whether they would kiss her as sweet, if they might grip her as tightly, or tighter, like it would hurt. What it would be like to be one of the gals on the cover of Startling Stories or Mystery Tales, with their clothes torn off, manhandled like dolls, about to be raped and kept captive and she had always wondered what was wrong with her and why she had kept looking at those magazines.  
  
Buck had always been tender, and the passion that burned in him had made her feel like she might melt away, leave nothing but bones behind. Then she had gotten stronger, healthier, mightier, and rough had begun to mean something new. And Buck had been disgusted.  
  
"I'm fine," she says when Rumlow touches her face.  
  
"You sure?" he asks, rubbing the tears away with his thumb.  
  
"Yes," she says with a sigh, and pulls herself up. "Ouch. Gonna feel that for a couple hours."  
  
"Are you kidding me," Brock bitches, and he moves like he was the one who just got reamed. "I'm going to be feeling this for days. Ah," he gets himself off his knees to sit on his butt, and leans back against the couch. Then looks at the spot right next to his head where she tore the cushion and frame apart. "Dear god, thank you for not doing that to me."  
  
"Ehehe, yeah. Sorry..." She'd hurt Buck pretty good once, startled herself outta the moment when he'd jumped back cursing a storm, bringing damn near the whole camp hooting and hollering outside their tent.  
  
"If we do this again I might have to put you in cuffs, boss"  
  
She smiles from the kitchen. "Don't worry, I'm not a cuddler." Even though she really is, sometimes.  
  
She gets water into both of them, and they cuddle against the sofa, and eat more chocolate, and drink more whiskey.  
  
In the shower she explores his body, the hair over his pecs and down his abs, his scars, his bulk. He has lines in his cheeks when he smiles, and she gets down on her knees and sucks him into her mouth while the water falls around them.  
  
He loves going down on her, and this time in bed he goes slow, no rush. She wishes she had changed her sheets recently, they probably smell like sweat, but he doesn't seem to notice as he spends most of his time kissing and sucking and licking her pussy. They both get comfortable: he's on his side, and she has a pillow under her hips so that he didn't have to lean down too far. Neither of them are in any hurry, and she has no idea how long it is before she comes, but it may have been hours. She's tender and sensitize and wet all around by the time she comes.  
  
He surprises her with something she’s never done before when he asks if he could play with her ass. It had obviously been a big goal of his, because he had played and played, licking her out there too, putting the lube to good use, asking if he could put more fingers in her. It was different, but not bad. Full, in a new way. She'd heard about how much this type of sex could hurt, but it never did, not with how much he played and stroked and worked her open, finally fucking her rough and good as she screamed into her pillow, hands safely bunching the sheets.  
  
They didn't get a lot of sleep, but it had been a good night, good enough that she talked to Fury with no suspicion the next day. Good until Fury showed up the next night, bleeding on her chair.

**Author's Note:**

> Should anyone care, Brock grabbed Maximus by Liquid Silk. Thicker than their other lubes, and great for anal.


End file.
